Did we have a freak tornado in January? Did someone rob Jimmy but instead of throwing things away, they dumped trash all over his living room?

He cast his gaze to the ground, refusing to look at the mess. "Jalinda normally did the cleanup."

I bit my tongue rather than point out how sexist his comment sounded. Plus, she'd barely been gone a day, but it looked like he'd been living the dorm life for at least a semester.

Two pizza boxes sat stacked on top of one another, hanging haphazardly from an end table. He had at least a case of empty Mountain Dew cans scattered around the floor, and he'd stacked all the decorative couch cushions on one of the side chairs.

He'd been so put together just twenty-four hours ago.

"Do you need help picking up?" I asked out of reflex and then pleaded with the stars he'd say no.

Thankfully, he shook his head quickly and put me out of my misery. "My mom is coming over later to take care of things."

Wow.

Better her than me. What was I thinking, offering to help a man who I suspected murdered his wife to clean his house? Although maybe I was actually a genius because I'd have lots of time and reasons to poke through this stuff looking for clues under the guise of cleaning.

Damn it. Now I actually wanted to stay and clean.

"If you're sure. I'm more than willing to help."

Jimmy led us to the middle of the space and plucked a twisted napkin from the couch. The room smelled like freshly folded linen, but since I didn't see Jimmy folding clothes-or washing them-in the last few days, I figured Jalinda used one of those smelly plug-ins to keep the place fresh.

I looked over the seat of the couch before placing my butt on it and then waited for Jimmy to take a seat. Questions were brimming in my mind, waiting for answers, but I had to play it cool if I wanted to get anywhere with him.

When trying to get a husband to incriminate himself in his wife's murder, it was imperative he not figure out your motives.

"So..." I said, folding my hands in my lap and letting the sentence trail off.

Jimmy hadn't made eye contact with me once since I sat on his dirty couch, and he didn't lift his gaze then either. So guilty.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, the red stain on his shirt growing and then shrinking with the motion. "I guess you heard about the candy if you're here."

"Yeah."

PI 101: When interrogating someone, let them do the talking.

Jimmy didn't know this was an interrogation, but what Jimmy didn't know might seriously hurt him. And help me.

"It's just so weird. Everyone knew Jalinda had a severe coconut allergy. The chocolates were from a friend. Like I told Anderson, she didn't have any enemies."

"Jalinda died from an allergy?"

That made Jimmy's head pop up, and he met my gaze. "Did they not tell you?"

I bit the inside of my lip to stop the frown from forming. "I haven't had time to check in with my contact at the station this afternoon," I lied.

"She received a box of chocolates as a late Christmas gift in the mail this weekend. The package said nothing about coconut, so she ate them. She always checked labels." Tears gathered in his eyes and his voice shook. "Detective Anderson believes she went into anaphylactic shock."

"Who were the candies from, Jimmy?" I asked, leaning forward.

He shook his head. "If I'd been home rather than with the improv group, I could have saved her life."

I had a lot to process from this conversation, but before I let Jimmy descend into his grief, I had to get the name of the sender. I didn't have a contact at the station. Only Jimmy could help me now.

A sob ripped from his chest and I scooted to the other end of the couch, moving a Mountain Dew can from the corner before patting the hand he had on his knee. "It's not your fault. You didn't know what would happen."

I almost believed my words. It sounded like a good story unless Jimmy had been the one to give her the candies.

"Who puts coconut in a chocolate-covered cherry?" he murmured to himself more than to me.

"Did the package have a letter with it? A card or some kind of note?" I already knew the package didn't have a return address because I saw the wrapper at the police station, but if Jalinda thought they were from a friend, she wouldn't have any reason to suspect they'd kill her.

He shook his head again. "No, but they were postmarked from Las Vegas. She has a friend or distant cousin there. I always forget the connection. Friend from college, I think."

Hmm, a friend, he says.

Interesting.

"Were she and the friend close?" And how could I get him to give me a name, address, and phone number?

Jimmy sighed. "No, they hadn't spoken in years, but Jalinda couldn't figure out who else they'd be from. She just assumed."

"What's the friend's name?"

"Tiffany something." He paused in thought. "I think she got married."

"Do you know her maiden name?" I asked quickly, leaning even closer.

"No, sorry. They weren't close."

Hmm. I leaned an inch closer and my butt fell off the seat of the couch. I caught myself before hitting the floor and wiggled back on to my cushion discreetly.

He wasn't giving me a lot to go on. "Did you eat any of the candy?"

Jimmy shook his head again, and I wanted to scream. "No, I'm allergic to cherries. They could have killed me for a different reason. Although, my reactions have never been as serious as Jalinda. One Easter at my mother's house, she did one of those coconut lamb cakes. Jalinda couldn't even be in the same room as the cake."

"It was that serious of an allergy?"

He nodded for the first time that evening, but it wasn't any more helpful than the head shakes. "She took it seriously and always checked because people put coconut in weird shit, you know?"

I nodded that time, even though I didn't really know. "Is it a common ingredient in chocolate items?"

"No, and I watched Jalinda read the ingredients on the package. They didn't have coconut anywhere on the label. It shouldn't have killed her."

Hmm, so if Jimmy couldn't eat the chocolates because of the cherries, whoever sent them definitely intended the package for Jalinda. Unless someone didn't know he was allergic. But then did they know Jalinda was allergic to coconut? And if so, what was coconut doing in a chocolate-covered cherry in the first place? Also, I had to find a baggie for my chocolate before cherry juice seeped out from the loss of structural integrity every time it melted.

I had too many questions, and none of the evidence made sense. It continued around in circles. I needed to get back to the office and start a list. Connect some dots. Figure out which of the probably hundred thousand Tiffanys in Vegas was Jalinda's Tiffany.

I left Jimmy sitting in his living room talking to himself about cherries and pizza stains. A light snow had started while I'd sat with him, and it already had a nice coat of fresh white stuff on the ground. I hated driving Rachel in the snow, but Frankie Zanetti only gifted me with one vehicle and I thought it rude to ask for a second snow-worthy one on top of the Camaro.

A girl couldn't ask too many demands of the local mafia crime lord.

"Hopefully, it will be a quiet night," I said to the box in my passenger seat after parking in the lot behind my office building.

Rachel was the only car in the entire lot, which left me hopeful I'd get some good thinking done. Katy's stupid box was too big to haul over to my side of the car so I had to get out, slipping on the snow-covered asphalt as I opened the passenger side door and tugged it out.

I almost set the box on the ground, but then Katy's warning about keeping it safe had me placing it gently on the hood of the car, hoping it didn't scratch it. I didn't want the edges of the box to get wet from the snow, but if it scratched my hood, Katy was in trouble.

The front seat flipped up with flair and I gathered my laptop bag from behind it. Ridge Jefferson had cameras all over the city, and I hoped I'd find a back way to hack into their system and see if they had coverage on Mrs. Coogs' home. It might allow me to track Brent's movements from the comfort of my cozy office.

"First, I need to outline the new information I have on Jalinda's case, and then I'll work on the hacking," I said to no one, since the box was no longer in my arms. "Shit."

I turned quickly, my feet slipping on the snowy ground as I power walked back to the car, and grabbed the box from the hood. "Sorry."

Damn it. Now I was apologizing to a box.

With my laptop bag slung over my arm and the box needing both hands for me to carry it, I used my foot to kick open the main office door. It didn't close properly, which my dad counted as a safety issue, but at that moment, I considered a selling point. Easy access.

I only took one step into the hallway before loud strums of a guitar blasted my eardrums. "Fucking eh," I complained to the box.

They had to practice tonight? Sharing a space with an up-and-coming heavy rock band didn't seem like such a horrible idea when I signed the lease. Now faced with listening to someone scream in a microphone-did they really need the volume all the way up for practice?-I had second thoughts.

I needed quiet.

Space.

Time alone.

A magnificent set of noise canceling headphones.

I unlocked my office door and then hauled the box back into my arms after having to set it down. By the time I finished this assignment for Katy, I'd have arms like a dead lifter at the Olympic Games. A thin bead of light illuminated the room when I flicked the switch, which controlled my one plug, and I shoved the box under my desk, wanting to keep it out of sight.

If Katy had something dangerous or illegal in there, I didn't need the whole town knowing I had it. My feet barely fit under the desk with the box as I rolled my chair closer. I set one foot on top of the box and then tucked the other under my ass, getting my jeans wet from the snow on my boots.

Ugh. I shifted again and finally found a comfortable spot right as a guitar rift solo shook the walls in my tiny space.

Oh no.